


Inheritance

by cryptidbf, denounce



Series: Flesh and Blood [1]
Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Affairs, F/M, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Sex, Rekindled love, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:22:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidbf/pseuds/cryptidbf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/denounce/pseuds/denounce
Summary: 1914.After years of lost contact, Eleanor Earle née Holland reconnects with her childhood best friend and old flame Leland Monroe. A passionate affair erupts between them, the danger of being caught at every twist and turn, be it by business associates or Eleanor's wrathful husband, Roy Earle.This is the origin story of the Vice cop we all know and love, named after a man he doesn't even share a splash of blood with.





	Inheritance

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! For all y'all's reference, young Monroe's whole look is Dan Stevens in Downton Abbey, and Eleanor's is Michelle Dockery _also_ in Downton Abbey.
> 
> ...Yes, they have matching faceclaims.
> 
> -oniyen

Eleanor is having an absolutely _dreadful_ week.

It’s safe to say that when she got put in charge of her father’s business while he was on bedrest, she hadn’t quite expected things to go south so quickly. Records were misfiled, meetings were missed, and she’d quickly noticed that none of their business partners were very eager to work with her. All in all, it was a downright mess and she was completely frazzled to the point of wanting to pull her own hair out. Hell, she almost had when one of her hands got caught on her pins.

At the least, Eleanor felt she could take comfort in the fact that things couldn’t get worse.

That is, she _did_ until a certain Leland Monroe strolled into her temporary office. She had damn near dropped what she’d been holding, but thankfully, she managed to compose herself in time. He looked almost no different since the last she’d seen him— perhaps a little thinner, his facial features more defined, but it was still the same man she’d grown up with. One thing she did notice, though: there was an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face.

She straightens up and puts on her own business face, as her father had taught her to do over the years. “Hello, Leland,” she greets, hoping her nervousness doesn’t seep into her tone. She pauses to set down the accounting ledgers she’d been carrying; she’d been intending on checking them for errors before Leland had came in. “I wasn't aware our fathers were associated.”

The moment Leland sees her face, the grim look melts completely. He opens his mouth to speak, but— he just stares in awestruck silence, eyes starry. Quickly, though, he masks it, clearing his throat and offering her a bright smile— his teeth are whiter now, even a little straighter. “Not our fathers,” he says, and his voice has definitely become deeper, more developed. It catches her off-guard. “Nicholas, bless the old codger’s soul, has been six feet under for God knows how long. Your father’s associated with _me._ ”

Eleanor gives him a smile of her own— more out of politeness than anything else. “I must’ve not heard the news,” she says, “My apologies. I don’t get told much, considering how old-fashioned my family is. I’m lucky I even got the chance to take over for even a bit.” She swallows hard. God, her mouth is like cotton. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, I was just going around. Shaking hands and brushing off empty threats, you know how it is.” Leland waves a hand nonchalantly, his other hand in his pocket. He moves to lean against the doorway, a little _too_ casually. “But enough of that. Nellie, it’s been—” He pauses to laugh, shaking his head. “— _far_ too long. How is everything?”

“Well, firstly, it’s Eleanor now,” she says, “Eleanor Earle.” Almost hesitantly, Eleanor holds up her left hand so he can see the diamond ring on her finger. It catches in the light and for some reason, that leaves her feeling ashamed. “It’s been five years since I got married.”

Leland’s cheery expression drops. “Ah,” he hums, coughing awkwardly as he averts his gaze. “I see. Congratulations, I suppose.” There’s a long bout of silence, neither of them saying or doing anything. Right as it becomes stifling, he speaks again. “Has it been that long? I’m sorry, I know I should’ve kept up. Just—” He bites out a bitter laugh. “There’s a reason I’m so nonchalant about my father’s passing.”

Eleanor hums and clasps her hands in front of her. “I never quite liked the old fellow,” she says, and she looks away, cheeks burning. That was probably the wrong thing to say. “Again, my apologies. I should’ve stayed in touch myself, but after my engagement and the wedding, I suppose I lost track of things. My husband, Roy— he keeps me busy.”

A small frown tugging at his lips, Leland shakes his head. “No, before that. When I left for business school.” Both hands are in his pockets now, and in that moment he’s almost a reflection of his younger self. Fancier-dressed, but… it’s a sight Eleanor’s seen many, many times. “I don’t remember there being a Roy when we were growing up together.”

Eleanor forces a smile. “That’d be because there wasn't,” she says, “He’s about five years older and the son of another associate. Mother and father thought it’d be good for us to marry and you weren’t around so…” She trails off. “I said yes. I feel we’re very happy.” That’s a lie and a half, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Leland runs a hand through his hair. “Last I remember, we made a promise to each other.” He pauses, and Eleanor can see the cogs turning in his mind. “Last I remember, the last letter between us was _me_ confirming that promise.”

Inhaling sharply, Eleanor avoids looking him in the face. “You never came back, Leland,” she says, “My parents were pressuring me and I didn’t quite have a choice but to give into their demands. I’m the oldest daughter and the heir to the business; it’s my duty to do as they ask.”

“You know full well that if you asked me to come back, I would have,” Leland says, fixing her with an intense stare. His eyes are so _blue—_ two bright rings of sea glass. “Did you really think I respected my father enough to stay where he put me?”

“Funnily enough,” Eleanor says, and there’s a little bit of that _fire_ that she used to have, “You _did_ stay where he put you.” She turns away, then, and opens one of the ledgers she’d sat down, almost slamming it’s cover against the desk. “I don’t have all day to argue the rub with you, Leland. If you came here to say hello, then say hello and leave me to my business.”

Leland is about to respond, but his voice just dies in his throat. He shuffles his feet, glancing between her and the door. “I suppose I’m saying goodbye, then,” he says, dipping his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Earle. I spoke out of line.” There’s the new Leland— stiff and serious, formal and uptight. Even then, something akin to genuine remorse peeks through.

Eleanor keeps her back turned, fingers curling into fists on top of the desk. She feels if she looks him in the face right now that she might have an actual breakdown. “It’s quite alright,” she says, but her tone is almost too sharp and doesn’t match her words. “Have a nice day, Leland.”

“You too,” Leland replies, and it's obvious that he means it. By the way he hesitates, he wants to say more— but instead he turns on his heel and leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.

The dam breaks the moment Eleanor hears the door click shut. Breathing out a frustrated noise, she wipes at her eyes with the heel of her hand. Crying is weakness; she couldn’t show weakness. It was hard to keep herself steady, though, and the tears just keep coming, staining her cheeks.

God, why is she such an _idiot?_

 

* * *

 

When Eleanor first met Leland, she thought of him as a brat.

He was always _that_ rich boy; scrappy, getting into fights and landing himself in trouble with his too-strict parents. The type of person she loathed to associate with, much less call a friend. As it was, the only reason she’d ever even bothered to talk to him is because her mother had pushed her forward and said _‘play nice, Eleanor._ _’_ It wasn’t even really friendship; more of a _convenience,_ really, for when they were stuck at boring garden parties and had nobody else to talk to.

One day, though, that changed.

She’d been being pushed around by a couple of other boys their age— ones that liked to pull hair and steal her books and laugh when she got mad. Nothing too major, really, up until things got a little physical and she’d found herself in a mud puddle with torn stockings while they continued to _laugh, laugh, laugh_. All she could do in response was cry— and that just made them laugh harder.

Then, like a knight from one of her fairytales, Leland had arrived in his very own suit of shining armor— simple day clothes, already fought in judging by the scuffs and rips and missing buttons. The moment the boys saw him, fear flashed in their eyes like lightning— they soon found _themselves_ in the puddle of mud, watching Leland as he helped Eleanor to her feet.

It was like something just… _clicked_.

Maybe he wasn't as much of a brat as she had originally thought. No, perhaps he was _more_ than that. Perhaps he was somebody she could rely on— somebody she could actually call a friend and mean it.

She thanked him with a kiss on the cheek and that time, she was the one who got to laugh.

Even as they grew up and navigated different social circles, family troubles, and a developing town, they stayed practically glued at the hip. The pair went _everywhere_ together— out to town, to school, and even to their parents’ horrifically drab dinner parties. Hell, they usually frequented a lake by their houses, just to relax. Today seems to be no different from yesterday or the day before that; Leland is skipping rocks on the lake and Eleanor is lying in the grass, book in hand while her free arm rests behind her head. Tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration, Leland reaches down for another rock— instead, he pulls up grass.

“Oh, damn it all,” he says, huffing a sigh and moving to sit on the ground. “I’m out of rocks. The world is going to end.” Leland snorts at his own joke, shaking his head.

Eleanor glances up at him only briefly; her eyes quickly snap back to the text in her book. “Hush, you,” she says, “I’m almost done with this chapter and then I’ll pay you attention.”

Leland breathes out a small laugh, shifting so he can flop down next to her. “Why not pay me attention right _now?_ ” He asks, tilting his head to look at her with those strikingly blue eyes of his.

“That’d be because you’re a fool, Lee,” Eleanor says, but nonetheless, she’s sliding the ribbon she was using as a bookmark in place and setting her book aside. “I don’t pay attention to fools.”

Leland scoffs in mock-offense, sitting up on his elbows and putting a hand to his chest. “I am _scandalized,_ ” he says, reaching out and giving Eleanor’s shoulder a playful shove. “If I _am_ indeed a fool, I’m _your_ fool, Nell.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes. “And _however_ did I get saddled with such a fool as you?”

“You kissed my cheek and sealed your own fate,” Leland responds matter-of-factly, settling back down on the grass. He then laughs, shifting so the back of his head rests on his arms. “There’s _that,_ and the fact that mother likes you.”

“Only because I keep you out of trouble,” Eleanor replies, and she turns to lie on her side, absentmindedly playing with a blade of grass. “Most of the time. She doesn’t need to know I’m the one who bruised Conrad’s face instead of you.”

Leland lets out another laugh— louder, more boisterous. He moves onto his side as well, unintentionally copying her. “That was _priceless,_ ” he says, still chuckling. “You throw a harder punch than even _him,_ and I used to lose to him all the time.”

Eleanor’s cheeks color ever-so-slightly at the praise. “Well,” she starts, “I wasn't about to let him get away with bullying Lillie any longer. I had enough of her coming home in tears.” She plucks the piece of grass between her fingers and flicks it towards him, stifling a laugh when it lands in his hair. “It just means I punch harder than you too, Lee.”

Grinning wide, Leland brushes the blade of grass out of his hair— all that does, however, is dishevel it. “That you do,” he says, reaching out to absentmindedly brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “I learned that _years_ ago, Nell.”

Just like that, Eleanor’s face is even redder. She moves to sit up, then, and pulls her knees to her chest. “You deserved it,” she says, “Not my fault you were being a total brat.”

Leland scoffs, sitting up with her and leaning back on his arms all the while. “That’s your favorite way to describe me, isn’t it?” He snarks, letting out a small laugh and shaking his head. “ _‘Brat’_ is as much of a nickname as _‘Lee.’_ ”

“I think it suits you,” Eleanor says, and she gives him a grin— the type of grin that completely lights up her face. “Maybe one day you’ll earn something sweeter.”

As soon as she smiles, Eleanor can _swear_ she sees stars shimmering in Leland’s eyes. He smiles back with a soft chuckle, reaching out and boldly cupping her cheek. “What would I have to do?”

Humming, Eleanor bites her lip. “A good question,” she says, “but one I think you already know the answer to.”

With another laugh, Leland leans in and—

—he pulls back as soon as he hears a familiar, booming voice calling his name; Nicholas Monroe, his father, sounding just as angry as he usually is— although, there’s a strange touch of _alarm_ in his tone. “Shit,” Leland hisses, and he glances over his shoulder before turning back to Eleanor. “Just one. _Quick._ ”

“Just one,” Eleanor repeats, and she leans in, lips brushing against his briefly in a sweet kiss. When she pulls back, her face is red again. “And another one later, if you’re able.”

Leland nods, the tips of his ears coloring slightly. “Right,” he says, moving to help her stand up with him. His father is growing closer by the second, his voice growing more urgent as he approaches. Despite this, Leland seems unbothered. “Can I say _‘I love you’_ yet, or is it still too early?”

Eleanor raises an eyebrow, but she’s smiling nonetheless. “I dare not call it by name,” she says, “Names give too much power. But—” She stands on the tips of her toes and presses another fleeting kiss to his lips. “Talk to my father and I might let you.”

Leland’s eyebrows shoot upwards. There’s an awfully naive amount of hope in his eyes, but when he opens his mouth to speak, he’s cut off by his father shouting from a distance where he can finally be heard.

“Leland Nicholas Monroe!” He calls, face burning in rage and— his cheeks are damp, which catches both Leland and Eleanor off-guard. They’re barely able to exchange a worried glance before he continues, his voice breaking all the while. “Come quick, son! It’s your mother!”

 

* * *

 

Never in her life had Eleanor had to deal with a more pathetic child of a man than her very own husband.

Here she is, standing outside the door to their hotel room after yet another fight, banging her fist against it incessantly. “Roy, I swear on my _life,_ ” she says, and she winces slightly. Her hand is starting to ache. “You’re being ridiculous! Let me back in already!”

Unsurprisingly, she gets no reply. She hadn’t gotten one in the full hour she’d been standing here. At this point, she almost doesn’t remember what they’d been arguing about, but the sting in her cheek is keeping her anger alive. _You’re not fit to run the business, Eleanor_ , the bastard had said, _your only duties should be those of a wife’s._ What did that even mean? Eleanor wants to throw a tantrum of her own. She wants to scream and stamp her feet and make him wish he was never born. However, that’d be more than unsightly and she thinks herself _far_ more mature than the man on the other side of the door, so she settles on attempting to talk him into unlocking the door.

“ _Please,_ Roy _,_ ” she says, and she just scowls when all that gets her is more silence. Her patience is starting to wear thin and she’s too exhausted to deal with this any longer than she already has. She bangs on the door one last time. “You know, you’re always telling me you want a child, but why do we need one when _you’re_ already here!?”

That time she gets a response: a muffled, but still very clear _‘fuck you.’_ With a frustrated noise, Eleanor turns on her heel and all but stomps her way downstairs. Fine. If he wanted to act this way, then he could just sleep alone tonight. Every night, for that matter. She was so tired of all the disagreements. She was so tired of _him_. Lord, why had she thought marrying him would be a good idea in the first place? He’d rubbed her the wrong way the moment he’d step foot in the door and kissed her hand.

Still stewing in her anger, Eleanor finds herself in the lobby before she even knows it. The boy behind the front desk looks surprised to see her and for a minute, she wonders why. Then, she remembers there was probably a distinct red mark on her face. Right. That’d startle anybody. Offering the poor young man a gentle smile, she says, “May I borrow your phone? It’ll only be for a second.”

He nods and moves it to where she can access it. “Of course, ma’am.” It’s all he has to say before he’s turning to busy himself with other things— probably to give her more privacy.

Eleanor stares down at the phone with pursed lips. Now that she’s here, she isn’t actually sure who to call. It was far too late to bother her parents, especially with her father being injured. Lillian lived up north. Violet was too young. Her husband is the one she was trying to get away from. There was only one other person she could think of and with a sharp inhale, she starts to dial.

She waits.

And waits.

And—

“Leland Monroe speaking,” comes the tired voice on the other end— it seems that he’s been up for a while. “Who’s this?”

Eleanor hadn’t actually expected him to pick up. _Oh, damn, what do I say now?_ She inhales sharply again before speaking. “Hello, Leland,” she says, “It’s Eleanor. I’m sorry for bothering you so late.”

Leland inhales sharply, clearly surprised to hear her voice. “Eleanor,” he starts slowly, “what’s going on? Are you alright?” Well, he’s certainly awake now; there’s enough alertness and concern in his voice to power a generator.

“I’ve seen better nights,” Eleanor remarks. She takes pause— perhaps that wasn't the best thing to say. “But really, I’m quite fine. I’ve just…” She trails off. How is she supposed to put this? _Oh, hello, my bastard of a husband was being… well, a bastard, and now I have nowhere to sleep._ “I got into a bit of an argument with Roy and he’s locked me out of our hotel room. I’d ask the front desk to give me another key, but if you want the honest truth, I’d rather hang myself than spend another moment with him tonight. Would you mind picking me up?”

“Oh.” There’s the sound of papers rustling on the other end, then— silence. Leland doesn’t speak for what feels like forever, letting out a low hum in thought. After another bout of quiet contemplation, he speaks. “I can pick you up,” he says finally. “Do you feel alright with going to my apartment? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Eleanor bites her lip in thought. Well, originally, she was just going to ask him to drop her off at her parent’s house, but… opportunity only knocks once. “That’s fine with me, yes,” she says, “I know the other day might say otherwise, but I’m still fond of you, Leland. I doubt you could make me uncomfortable.”

“Fond of me?” Leland's obviously caught off-guard, judging by the way he sputters. He takes a moment to clear his throat, effortlessly falling back into composure. “No matter. I'm glad to hear that, Nellie.” He pauses and there's a gentle _slap_ on the other end, palm to forehead. “Eleanor.”

Despite the situation, Eleanor finds herself smiling. “I’m merely speaking the truth,” she says, “I’m not quite sure of the address of this place, but— it’s that hotel that’s not too far from my father’s building. You can’t miss it— the exterior is so _gaudy._ ”

Leland lets out a groan. “Ah, yes, the eyesore,” he says. There's the sound of fabric shifting on the other end— presumably, he's grabbing his jacket. “I'll be there in five or so minutes. I drive past it on the way to work.”

Humming softly, Eleanor brushes some loose hair out of her face; her usually neat updo had become disheveled during the ordeal. “I’ll be waiting,” she says, and she hangs up before he can say anything else, heart pounding in her chest.

She inhales. Exhales.

 _Oh, Nellie, you absolute fool_.

 

* * *

 

It isn't long before Leland arrives to the hotel.

He enters the lobby with his coat thrown over his shoulder and hat missing, glancing around a bit nervously. His hair is messy, most likely due to his hand running through it all the time, and his eyelids are heavy with exhaustion— it's a sight Eleanor has seen time and time again, though… not in the best of circumstances.

She can’t help but stare for a minute. When she’d seen him the other day, she didn’t get the chance to realize that she’d missed him. Now that she’s thinking about it, she had missed him… quite a bit more than she’d like to admit. Heart ramming itself against her ribcage, she gives the boy behind the front desk a polite goodbye and pushes away to meet Leland. “Seeing you look like this makes me feel worse for calling you,” she remarks.

Leland's gaze snaps to her as soon as she speaks, and the moment their eyes meet, his expression softens immensely. “No, it's fine,” he says, practically running to meet her. He almost reaches out to take her in his arms— _almost_ — but he stops, instead opting to smile wearily and look her over. That lasts until he sees the red, hand-shaped mark on her cheek, smile dropping into a serious frown. “Nellie— _Eleanor,_ did he…?”

At that, Eleanor’s hand goes to her face, cheeks suddenly burning in white hot shame. “It’s nothing,” she says, “I’d already forgotten he’d even done it, honestly, and we’ve gotten into worse scuffles before.” She realizes a second too late that she shouldn't have said that and clears her throat.  “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. I’m fine.”

Leland looks like he wants to say more, but instead he clears his throat and glances back over his shoulder. “Right,” he says, sounding entirely unconvinced. When his gaze returns to her face, the concern has grown tenfold. “You should take my coat. I don’t want him to see you leaving with another man.”

Eleanor’s cheeks are still burning— for different reasons now. “You always were a smart one,” she remarks, “Even when you pretended you weren't.”

“That’s probably the kindest thing you’ve said about me all week,” Leland says, shaking his head with a chuckle as he pulls his coat from his shoulder and offers it to her.

Eleanor mumbles a quick _‘thank you’_ before sliding her arms through the sleeves and pulling it on. It’s far too large on her small frame, but it’d have to do. Briefly, she notices the way it smells— cigars and cologne and something that is uniquely just _him._ She shakes the thought away. “How do I look?” She asks, tone joking.

Even though her question was obviously a joke, Leland smiles and returns with a genuine answer. “You always look perfect,” he says, and— the moment is ruined by a slamming door up the stairwell. Inhaling sharply, Leland moves to usher her outside, one hand on the small of her back all the way. Once they reach his car, he gestures towards the passenger’s seat. “Get in. Quick.”

Eleanor wastes no time in doing as he said, climbing into the seat. “Quick,” she repeats, “Just like old times, hm?”

Leland pauses once he climbs in driver's side, almost as if he's processing her words. Then, he laughs. “Oh, right,” he says, turning over the engine and beginning to drive. “If it was _really_ just like old times, you'd have kissed me by now.” Now _he's_ joking, but— there's a dash of sincerity behind his words.

For a moment, Eleanor says nothing. She’s deep in thought. “Well,” she says, “I’m a married woman now, but—" She leans over to press a quick peck to his cheek. “You did save me. That’s just like old times, too.”

Leland's grip on the steering wheel tightens, his eyes darting to her face when she pulls away. “I—” He laughs again, more out of disbelief than anything else. “I didn't expect that to work.” His gaze returns to the road as he makes a right turn.

“You should know by now that’s my preferred way of thanking you,” Eleanor says, but her words are teasing. She’s settles into her seat and absentmindedly, she brings the sleeves of his coat to her face, inhaling deeply. “I know I shouldn’t have lied when I said we were happy. We mostly just… tolerate each other’s presence, but the disagreements have been getting worse since father asked me to take over the business while he heals.” A pause, and a scoff. “Roy doesn’t think I’m suited for anything more than my wifely duties.”

Leland listens closely, completely silent, even for a while after she's done speaking. “I don’t trust that bastard—” He pauses, exhaling deeply. “That _man_ as far as I can throw him. He came to the offices once, you know. Asked me if I knew where you were.” He glances over to Eleanor’s face before bringing his eyes back to the road. “I told him I didn’t know.” He goes quiet as he makes another turn— they’re growing closer to their destination. “I’m, uh… glad I trusted my instincts.”

Eleanor hums softly. “He’s harmless, usually,” she says, and she drops her hands to her lap, fidgeting. A frown is etched into her features. “He just… has his head too far up his own ass, I guess. It’s like living with a child sometimes.” She lets out a laugh. “I told him we didn’t need to have one as long as he was around.”

Leland forces a chuckle at her joke, but— it’s obvious his mind isn’t on the present conversation. He swallows hard, sparing her another glance. “What happened?” He asks, voice surprisingly soft. “And no, not tonight, Nellie— _Eleanor._ What _happened?_ When we were younger, you’d never take this from anyone.”

Eleanor bites her lip in thought. “I don’t know, Leland,” she says, “I guess times have changed and so have I. That, and he’s… still my _husband,_ no matter how terrible he acts. I made a vow to him when we got married.” She shakes her head. “I wish I hadn’t, but it’s far too late to change my mind now, don’t you think? Five years is a long time.”

There’s a long, heavy silence before Leland speaks again. “My mother was discussing divorce with father before she fell ill,” he says, and he makes another turn into a parking lot by a towering apartment building. “It’s _never_ too late, Eleanor. Sometimes, I— I wonder how different life would be if she survived.” He pulls into a parking space, the car sputtering a few times before he manages to shut it off completely, and he just— sits there for a while. He turns to look at Eleanor, reaching out and putting a hand on her shoulder. “If you do end up having children, would you want them to grow up in that environment?”

“Of course not,” Eleanor says, and her eyes drop to where his hand is. Her eyebrows furrow. “It’s too complicated to go into right now, Lee—” She stops, realizing what she said. Shaking her head, she clears her throat and continues. “ _Leland_. My apologies. The point is leaving him wouldn’t be too easy of a feat.” She brushes some hair out of her face and exhales a sigh. “At the least, you can take comfort in the fact we probably _won’t_ have children. The doctors say it’s a very slim chance for both of us.”

Leland nods, pausing to shake his head and breathe out a bitter laugh. “I can’t believe I’m _overjoyed_ at such usually-terrible news,” he remarks, moving to get out of the car and circling around to the other side to hold the door for her. “After you.”

Eleanor acknowledges him with a dip of her head, sliding out of the seat. “Such a gentleman,” she says, “When’d you learn to be so chivalrous?” Her joking tone is back.

Leland laughs again— thankfully, it's more genuine this time. “While I was waiting for you,” he says, and it's meant to be a light-hearted joke, but… there's a grain of truth behind his words. Before Eleanor can think too hard about it, he picks up the pace towards the entrance of the tenements. “Come on.”

Eleanor trails after him, picking up her skirt to allow herself a little more speed. “Lee,” she says, and this time she doesn’t bother to correct herself, “Were you _really_ waiting for me?”

At the door, Leland stops, hand hovering over the handle. He inhales and exhales a deep breath, throwing her a glance at his side. “I was,” he admits, quiet, just for her. “I told you that in our last letter, Nellie.”

Eyebrows furrowed, she stares up at him with pursed lips. Carefully, cautiously, Eleanor reaches out for his arm. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, “I should’ve waited for you, too, but…” She trails off and drops her hand to her side. “I had no choice, Lee. I _had_ to marry Roy.”

Leland tenses up under her touch, only relaxing when she pulls away. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words just die in his throat. He looks away. “You did what you had to do,” he says, moving to open the door to the lobby and hold it for her. “I'm fine with that. Really.” He was never a good liar as a boy, and it seems that he isn't a good liar as a man, either.

“I don’t believe you,” Eleanor says, and she steps over the threshold, turning to face him with her head held high. “But I’ll _pretend_ I do. For both our sakes.”  

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” Leland says lamely, letting the door swing shut behind him as he crosses the room to make his way up the steps, Eleanor in tow. He’s quiet all the way up to the second floor, even when they reach his apartment and he’s fumbling with his keys. Well, _now_ he says something: a quiet “damn it” muttered under his breath as he tries to find his home key. In that moment, with his eyebrows furrowed and his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration, he’s a perfect visage of his younger self.

Eleanor says nothing, eyes practically glued to him. An idea enters her head— a terribly _stupid_ idea, and one that leaves her heart pounding yet again. “Lee.”

Exhaling sharply, Leland tilts his head towards her, eyes still on his keys. “What—”

He’s promptly cut off by Eleanor pushing forward to kiss him, both hands on his shoulders to keep her steady on her feet. Needless to say, Leland is surprised— but he shuts his eyes tight and allows himself to melt into it, keys clattering to the floor as he drops his hands to the small of her back. Somehow, and this is impressive, Eleanor manages to press him up against the wall, deepening the kiss in the process. With a noise of surprise, Leland opens his mouth a little more, but it isn’t to allow her access— his tongue is becoming incredibly bold as his hands slide a bit lower, just as boldly.

Pulling away with a grin, Eleanor dangles his keys in front of his face— in the middle of all of that, she’d hooked them on her heel and grabbed them. “You lose something?”

Leland lets out a breathless chuckle, taking the keys and moving to unlock the door. He gets it without looking. “Maybe,” he says, giving her behind a quick squeeze and pulling her inside, letting the door swing shut before resuming where they left off— this time with _her_ back against the wall. Eleanor makes a pleased noise against his lips, one hand sliding up into his hair and the other gripping his arm. Leland hums, low and deep, carefully moving to push his coat off of her shoulders; by the way he’s holding himself back, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

As it turns out, Eleanor is completely unconcerned about boundaries, seeing as she’s pulling him even closer and fiddling with the buttons of his waistcoat. Seeming to get the hint, Leland’s hands move to help her a bit more deftly, and soon his vest is on the floor. Next, his hands go to the buttons of her dress, each one coming undone quickly and efficiently. Eleanor breaks away long enough to let it fall to the floor and kick it aside.

“You’re just as skilled as I remember,” Eleanor remarks, something of a wicked grin on her face.

“In what way?” Leland asks smugly, a wide grin just as devilish on display.

“I doubt you need even more of a boost to your ego,” Eleanor says, and she rolls her eyes, but the grin stays in place. “You always were _quite_ arrogant.”

Leland scoffs, still smiling. “That’s what drew you to me,” he says. There’s a moment where he just lets his gaze drag across her form, then quite suddenly he moves to pick her up bridal-style, dipping his head to kiss her neck. “Wasn’t it?” He mumbles against the skin.

“I’m actually positive my first impression of you was that you were a spoiled brat,” Eleanor says, voice going up an octave as she giggles. “Careful. You don’t want to leave any marks.”

Leland gives a small hum. “I wasn’t going to,” he says, still only pressing kisses to her neck. “I don’t want to hurt you.” It’s then that he begins to carry her towards the bedroom, mouth all over her neck and collarbone the whole way.

“You could never,” is all Eleanor has to say.

With a genuinely loving grin, Leland stumbles into the bedroom and kicks the door shut.


End file.
